


Uncovered

by Splinter



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M, Porn with Feelings, Post-Movie(s), Tattoos, Undressing, Vaginal Sex, reference to past torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-02 21:59:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6584203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Splinter/pseuds/Splinter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Max has a wastelander’s urge to huddle in as many layers as possible. Furiosa would like to see him naked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Uncovered

It’s not just his jacket. Max is a hoarder, keeping useful things in pockets and on belts, tucked away among his many layers. He doesn’t want to put anything down, so he doesn’t want to take anything off. The first few times he returned, he had to be coaxed out of his backpack, despite the heat and the running commentary from Toast, the Dag and even from Capable. Cheedo doesn’t tease; she’s no longer fragile, but she’s still a little shy of him. Furiosa doesn’t tease him either, at least not about this, though sometimes she looks at him as if she’s considering something. It makes him self-conscious in a way that the girls’ most outrageous jokes don’t.

Since he started sleeping in her bed, behind a door that locks, he’s relaxed a little. He’s left bundles stored in safe places, even shed a few layers. He has clothes just for sleeping in, soft things that would be no defence at all in the desert. Sex with Furiosa still tends to be a half-dressed affair, with eager hands under fabric and garments shoved aside. As they head back to her room, her arm is already around his waist, her flesh hand rucking his shirt up.

They get inside, the door barred and her arm off. He’s kissing her shoulders, her hand sliding up his back. Her lips are on his ear when she says, “I want to see you naked.”

The shiver that goes through Max is partly a reaction to her voice, pitched low and steady. There’s also a deep, squirming sense of vulnerability. It hadn’t occurred to him that he avoids nudity. In the wasteland, it’s only practical to wash bit by bit, if you have the luxury of washing at all. It’s sensible to cling to every layer of protection. Now he’s breathing fast, stuck on the thought of being so open and exposed.

“Would you like that?” murmurs Furiosa. She’s kissing a line across his cheek, her lips soft against his heated skin. He doesn’t know how to answer, his mouth dry and his cock twitching. There’s nakedness, and then there’s the idea of her looking at him, wanting to look at him. “It’s okay,” she starts, voice a little lighter, still nuzzling close. The moment is passing, and he doesn’t want it to go. “You don’t –”

“Yes,” he gets out, hoarse, louder than he meant. She kisses him again, wet and warm, and they stand like that for a moment, his arms around her.

“Jacket?” she prompts him. That’s almost easy. He usually takes it off in her room, and has even been about the Citadel without it, though admittedly his arm was in a splint at the time. She pulls away when he starts to shrug it off, sitting on the bench to undo her boots. She’s giving him a moment to breathe, and maybe he needs it, but he misses the closeness. He takes off his leg brace, hanging it up beside her prosthetic arm, and his boots and socks. They smile at each other, barefoot and awkward, and get on with unfastening trousers.

In a rush, Max gets down to just his shirt. He sits on the bed, scrunching his naked toes, reluctant to take off his last layer. She’s seen the bloodbag tattoo on his back, in passing and when she was patching up wounds. Revealing it now, when she wants to look, is different.

Swallowing, he pulls off his shirt and lies down – on his front, not trying to hide his back. He rests his face on his folded arms while he waits for her, feeling his bracelet against his chin. It’s strange to think it’s the only thing he’s wearing. 

Furiosa sits down beside him. He manages not to startle at her hand on his back. She strokes him, not along the inked words he knows are there, but up and down, following lines of muscle. When he starts to relax, she leans in to kiss the nape of his neck.

Her lips move down, licking and kissing. One little bite makes him gasp. She’s working over his shoulders, steady and intent, finding out what makes his breath change. The air feels cool against his sweating skin, her mouth hot.

“You have a very broad back,” she says huskily, between kisses. He knows he does, remembers the Organic Mechanic joking that they wouldn’t need abbreviations this time, but now he finds that matters less than the way she’s sliding her arm around him. She had finished undressing, and he gulps at the brush of bare skin when she reaches over. “Max?” she asks. He makes a sound of protest when she takes her hand away.

“S’good,” he says, voice as rough as if he were fresh from the desert. “Just… not used to being uncovered.”

“Okay,” she murmurs, kissing his neck again. The mattress dips, and then she's climbing onto him, the length of her body against his. He can feel the softness of her breasts where she presses against him, leaning in to kiss his shoulders. She hums in satisfaction when he moans. Her thighs and belly are cool, and there’s a tickle of pubic hair against his buttock. His cock is hard and straining under him, tension easing out of his back as her mouth soothes and nibbles.

When she strokes down his side, he can feel her pleasure in it, the way her hand curls to follow the planes of his body. She’s enjoying him, fingers mapping his sturdy ribs and lean waist, the curve of his bum and the fullness of his thigh. She lingers and strokes and returns, unpredictable and deft. Max’s whole side is prickling, waiting for her touch and tingling when it comes. Even with his face hidden in his arms, his breathing sounds very loud in the quiet of the room.

He’s sure she likes this, but it’s not what she asked for. She smiles when he lifts his head to look back at her, pushing herself up to kiss his cheek. Taking a deep breath, he starts to turn over. Furiosa slides off him and watches. Her gaze has the same sense of pleasure he’d felt in her fingers, feels almost as warm on his skin. He knows he’s blushing, doesn’t know what to do with his hands. But he does like it. 

He likes it so much that it scares him. There’s no shortage of people who will examine a living body in the wasteland, assessing it for weakness or for use. To be watched and wanted, the way Furiosa wants him, feels like a gift. His instinct is to guard the soft, shaky pleasure of it, to hide his smile before it can reach his lips. He’s almost painfully hard, his skin already craving more of her touch.

He hadn’t expected to feel this again. He’d assumed intimacy was another part of the world he’d lost, of everything he ran away from. He doesn’t know if he’s stopped running yet, if he can or if he ever will. 

When he makes himself meet her eyes, he’s amazed by the hunger and the tenderness in them. She’s sitting watching him, leaving a careful gap between their bodies. Her hand is cradling her nub, as if reminding herself not to touch. Max reaches out and pulls her into his lap. 

She’s on him, kissing him hard and scrambling up him, knees and hipbones bumping in her haste. She grinds against him, very wet when he slips a hand between her legs. The skin of her back is soft where he strokes it, interrupted by scars and the fading ridges left where her bodice and belts had been fastened tight.

She slides her hand down his chest, from his heart to his belly, stroking over muscle and teasing when she gets to pubic hair. He can hear himself making breathy pleading noises when she reaches past his cock to cup his balls. He’s stroking her thigh, encouraging her to kneel up. She slides onto him, wet and tight, and stays there panting for a moment. She’s stroking his chest again, her nub around his waist as she starts to rock.

It’s fast and greedy and good, bodies already slippery with sweat. He can smell her arousal, taste the salt on her skin. Furiosa slides her hand down to her clit. 

“Can I, can you,” he says, gasping. He nudges her hand aside to curl his own fingers against her. She gulps and waits, not sure what he’s asking. As he starts to rub, he uses his other hand to pull her arm around him, pressing her hand to his side. She gives a little purr of pleasure, rocking against his fingers as she runs her own up his chest.

Max buries his face in her shoulder as she strokes and grinds, pulls her bare torso against him. He manages to hang on until she comes, then follows her with a sob, his mouth open against her skin.

She tips his head up after a moment, leaning her damp forehead against his.

“You interrupted me,” she says. “I was going to kiss you all over.” Max is fairly sure she’s teasing, thinks of pointing out that she still could. He mumbles as her hand runs over him, though even he doesn’t know what the words are, and presses his face to her neck. She slides her arms around him again, warm on his naked back.

**Author's Note:**

> This grew out of a line in another fic, [Afternoon Light](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6518452): first I got stuck, then I got sidetracked. 
> 
> Also, [Fadagaski pointed out how broad Tom Hardy's back is](http://fadagaski.tumblr.com/post/138380029449/fury-road-rewatch-63): "No wonder the Organic was able to tattoo a damn essay on there."
> 
> I'm at [lurkinghistoric](http://lurkinghistoric.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr.


End file.
